The inside is as pitiful as the smell promised. But as I close the doors, a weird sort of smile inches onto my face. This looks like my fridge on particularly busy weeks.
Then someone giggles.
I whirl again and come face-to-face with a severe-looking older woman eyeing me across the island, arms folded and mouth cross.
“Ah!” I slap a hand over my racing heart. Wait—I’mthe one who doesn’t live here. “Sorry, ah—did you… did you giggle?”
The woman’s narrow cold eyes are gray, like her hair. “Do I look like I giggle?”
I make the mistake of taking a second to answer. The hair, perfume, and cardigan-skirt set are giving off major grandma energy. Momaw gave me plenty of those stern looks. Suddenly, I feel underdressed in my overalls, even though they’re mygoodones, linen, instead of my usual torn denim.
“Ah, no. I mean—I’m sorry. The front door was open, I think, and I didn’t want to be late just standing in the drive, so I thought I’d wait here, and since I was invited, I figured no one would mind if I let myself in—”
“Please, Ms. Faust, no need to pontificate.”
“It’s Frost. Likefrosting.”
“I’m sure.”
Frost likefrigid, I should’ve said. I throw out a hand. “Honey Frost. Farewitch of Foxe Holler.” I sound like I’m asking a question, unsure. “Stellar to meet you.”
The older woman looks down at my offered hand like I’m holding a cracked, goopy egg. She doesn’t shake it. “We know who you are. Mr. Knight is unfortunately expecting you.” Her voice lowers and I swear the sunlight vanishes for a second. “We didn’t think you would show.”
I remember the Warlock’s letter.Regretfully. Unfortunately. What is it with these people?
“I’m the Holler’s Farewitch. I can help anyone, or I can try.” Nice. Real confident. “All someone has to do is ask.”
“People-pleasing is a trauma response, dear.”
Surprising that the fifth member ofThe Golden Girlsis online enough to know that vocabulary, but I keep that retort to myself.
I’m getting tired of this woman’s crusty top layer, but I’ll find some way into her goodwill. I’m good at wiggling into places I’m not supposed to be. “Right, well, thank y’all for having me.”
She cocks her head; the French roll of her hair doesn’t roll a bit. A single hair doesn’t even flutter. “How much do you know about the Warlock and Knight Manor?” It’s almost like she’s surprised I remember why I’m here.
“Admittedly, only whatever the rumor of the month is…” My words die under her withering stare. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her before at the shop or in town.
Whoarethese people tucked away at the edge of the Holler? If I had to guess the true identity of the Widow Witch, this lady would be in my top three.
“Where are the rest of the staff?”
“It’s just me. And before you ask, I’m no Witch. The Warlock is the only one with magic in this house.”
“Excellent,” I say, mustering confidence I don’t feel. That explains the state of the upkeep. “Independent working women, us two. Solitary work is good for the soul.Don’t bother a cake; you have to leave it alone to cool right.”
She scrunches her nose. “Do you often talk to yourself in inspirational quotes?”
“Oh, it’s something my Momaw used to say. I’m writing her advice into a cookbook.Honey Frost’s Southern Cookbook for Recipes Gone Wrong—”
She heaves a sigh. “You have an hour to make something for Mr. Knight. Consider it your interview.”
Hold on a mother-loving second. “Uh—I’m sorry, what—”
“Is there a problem?”
She has a few months left, at best. We need an answer. Now.
A pitiful Farewitch, I might be. But a slipshod daughter? Never. I can do this. “Not at all. May I meet the Warlock now? I need to speak with him about his illness before I begin.”
